Monohydrogen Dioxide
by Lady Aurelia
Summary: Hawke thinks she deserves at least a paid night at the Hanged Man after Meredith. After a magical explosion knocks her into some other universe, she thinks she deserves to own The Hanged Man. And maybe Kirkwall. Orlais. Par Vollen would sound nice as well, if she could ever find a way back. (Post The Last Straw, middle of ME2)


_We did it._

Hawke let the surprise and relief wash over her like a tide. She fell to the floor, exhausted and weary, and around her, her companions did the same.

_We did it._

Meredith fell to the floor in agony, her eyes and her mouth glowing red, and stayed still. Hawke wanted to poke her, just to be sure, and the thought brought a small grin to her face. Instead, she turned around and called out to her companions.

"We did it!" she shouted. There was a loud whoop from everyone, and she smiled, genuinely, for the first time that year.

"Well Hawke, I guess I owe you a drink," Varric walked over and thumped her on the back. He then offered her a hand to get up.

"You owe me the entire Hanged Man," she grinned.

He scoffed at her but made no objections. The dwarf walked over to Isabela, who groaned about some feeling in some part of her body and compared it to a hangover.

Hawke laughed and picked up her staff from the ground. At the moment, everything felt too much like a dream, yet at the same time, too real. She ran a hand through her tussled hair, slipped the band off and let her long black hair cascade to her waist. It felt like she had not worn her hair down in years.

"We are going to get smashed," she announced.

But Sebastian looked horrified. She knew he was a bit of a prude, but she did not think that he would be horrified at her declaration. After all, they _all_ deserved drinks after this whole fiasco. Surely Sebastian couldn't say no to _that_? And then she noticed that he was not looking _at_ her, but _behind_ her.

The only thing behind her was…

"Hawke!" he shouted and she turned her head to face him so fast she was surprised she did not get whiplash.

"Sebas—"

"_Run_!"

In retrospect, she should have followed his advice. She should not have given him a questioning look and then turn around to see what was wrong. She should have run away as if the demons were on her heels.

Meredith's body was glowing red, and it began to crack. Hawke could only stare in shock, before her instincts told her to _move, idiot, move_. But it was too late, and the resulting blast threw her all the way across the courtyard. The wall was closing in fast, and Hawke closed her eyes to brace for impact.

It never came.

* * *

The first thing she could smell was smoke. With a relieved groan, Hawke sat up and inhaled the scent. She was in some burning part of Kirkwall, probably. The smoke was strong, so maybe she was near the Chantry (the thought made her almost choke). Once her eyes cleared, she was able to see her surroundings.

A burning crater.

_Definitely the Chantry._

Hawke slowly eased herself into a standing position, although she swayed slightly. Using her staff as a walking stick, the Champion began to make her way up the sides of the crater and back to flat ground.

_Maker, that blast must have been powerful. From the Gallows to the Chantry? Varric would want to hear all about _that_ one._

However, half-way up, Hawke stopped with a sudden realization. If she was near the Chantry, then why could she not see the Viscount's castle in the distance? Furthermore, Kirkwall had, well, really tall _walls_. She should have been able to see them even from her position in the crater. Brows furrowed, Hawke quickly made her way up to the edge and carefully pulled herself onto the surface.

There was grass around her feet. _Kirkwall doesn't have grass unless it's a noble's garden._ The open sky greeted her from its unhindered view. _Kirkwall also has lots of structures that piled on way too high._

She frowned, and continued to look around. There seemed to be no civilization around for miles. There was only grass, and sky, and the vast expanse of _nothingness_. It was an empty, green field.

_The ones that Chimera liked to run around and chase rabbits in._

Her thoughts drifted back to her companions. Did the others survive the blast? Were they even hit by it? And if they were hit by it, where were they now? She only hoped they were near. Hawke closed her eyes and held her staff in front of her. She knew Merrill's magic signature like the back of her hand. The Dalish elf practically spewed it everywhere she went that it was hard _not_ to notice.

Hawke took a deep breath and focused as she channeled her magic through the staff, which lit up red like a flame. Two seconds later, she fell to the grass gasping for air as she landed on her rear.

_Merrill… isn't alive?_

But that couldn't be true. Hawke may not have liked the Dalish elf very much, but the last thing she wanted for her was to be dead. There was no response from Hawke's search for her signature. No response meant that _Merrill_ did not exist. Hawke cursed under her breath. There were no other mages who she was acquainted with well enough to know their signatures.

There was Anders.

She choked back a sob. Oh Maker, _Anders_.

"_You have to pay for what you've done," she said, slowly, quietly, almost regretfully._

_There was a dagger, hidden in her boot. She always kept it just in case. Her days from being on the run made her make sure that she had every advantage possible and that she was also prepared for anything. But now, now she was drawing it to…_

"_I know," he said as he sat hunched over on the crate. His simple admittance both angered and broke her at the same time._

'_Get mad at me. Lash out. Say something about how the Chantry deserved this. Don't go down like this. _Anders_! Stop being so nonchalant. _Yell at me_! Tell me what a horrible person I am for not supporting you. Don't just… _accept_ it.'_

_But she stayed silent, and kept those thoughts to herself._

"_For what it's worth, I'm glad it's you. It was nice to be happy… for a while," he continued. She wanted to slap him, and yell at him for being such a coward, but that was just hypocrisy._

_She couldn't even look at him as she stabbed him straight through the heart._

Her fingers twitched, and then her hand shook, and her wrist, and her arm, and eventually her whole body shook and fell onto the grass. Hawke fell to her knees and let the staff roll from her grasp.

_Anders. Mother. Carver. Bethany. Father. _

Father, lost to sickness. Bethany, lost to the Blight. Carver, lost to the Deep Roads. Mother, lost to a madman. And Anders, lost to his ambitions and _her_ sense of justice. Everyone she loved, and everyone she could possibly ever love, was dead.

Hawke looked around once more; there was no one around. She was alone.

She took a deep breath, and wailed as the weight of the world finally crashed down on her.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I am a horrible masochist.

I have three other stories ongoing right now, two of which demand at least 5000 words per chapter. And yet here I am, with this thing. (I can't even call it a story, dear lord. It's a plot bunny that I had when I went to sleep and then I wrote it down and I got bored when I got home from school and _damn_.)

Well the first chapter is short because if it wasn't it wouldn't catch your attention, right.

I should not be doing this, but oooh. This itch just asks for me to scratch it. Which would only make it even more irritating.

This file is appropriately named 'i'm such a masochist i cant even' on my computer.

(P.S. I am perfectly aware that hydrogen dioxide is the proper term. Let me have my fun.)


End file.
